When Death Fell In Love With Life
by KiwiRita
Summary: A one-shot story I wrote while watching The Book Thief since I was inspired by the narrator playing Death and I wanted to imagine what it would be like for Death to fall in love. This is the first story I've published online in years so I'd really appreciate feedback. Thanks and enjoy!


**When Death Fell In Love With Life**

What if Death fell in love with a girl?

Could he love her even as she grows old?

Could he love her even if she didn't?

"Tell me baker, how old is your bread?"

The baker with a balding head turned to see a young woman standing in the doorway of his small bakery, she looked so out of place in her pencil skirt with a flowing purple blouse; when compared to his chipped doorway with fading green paint. Her shoulders were pulled back in a show of confidence that her face betrayed. Her eyes were cast downward and to the side, gazing at a basket of baguettes in order to avoid his stare.

"Fresh from this morning, they would have been warm had you of come earlier." His answer came in the form of a medium tone that did not fit his build.

The woman expected something deep, so as his tone hit her ears, she looked up and met his eyes. Her soft curls whipping out to cover her eyes before her hands could stop them.

She wasn't beautiful, nor would she ever be, but she would never be called ugly. She had a unique look to her that would make men take a second glance, but never stop or turn around. Black hair that gleamed in the window light and eyes such a dark brown they looked black in the shadows. She looked like something off a tequila bottle. It was her smile though, that burned its way into a man heart, it was her smile that stopped death in a way it had never stopped a man with a beating heart.

You see, when she met the bakers eyes, and gave one of her wide smiles, the clock struck five minutes past eleven. Now the clock struck this time every day, twice a day, but it was on this day when the clock struck for the first time, that the baker was fated to die.

Just as Death wound his fingers around the thin string, no thicker than a spider's web, he froze. The string was meant to cause a blood clot in the brain, but was left limp as Death watched in awe as her smile unfolded. By the time he remembered what he was meant to do, the clock had changed to six minutes past eleven and the fragile string has transformed into a thick rope; the baker would live for another year.

Time and time again, this girl showed up and froze Death right before he could strike, at one point, he thought she did so on purpose. Slowly though, he began to realize that the girl could not see him, she could not feel his fingertips brush across her cheek after each set back; yet to Death's great joy, she always leaned into the shadows instead of the sunlight, right into the palm of his hand. The smile never leaving her face as she tilted her head, just a smidgen, and giggled at the living, ignorant of the paths she forged.

Years passed, and with each meeting, Death began to dread the day her web appeared in his hand. More years came and went, and yet Death's anxiety grew. Because time passed by so differently to Death, he was slow to notice changes, or as it was, lack of changes. Leaves changed and trees grew and fell, yet the girl remained constant.

Death had played his role for so long, that he enjoyed watching her, he almost felt as if he was living through observation.

Time would check in now and then, but Death was quick to shoo him away, afraid of what news he would bring with his chiming clocks.

When he wasn't fretting over her end, Death was worrying over her social life, or lack thereof. Was she not lonely? How could she always smile when no one stayed in her life for more than a few hours? Why did she not date? If she had, he would have killed the bastards, but he didn't really allow himself to think on that too much.

Duty called, but he was always quick to return to her side. He hovered over her, afraid that she'd be hurt while he was gone.

He sat at the end of her bed at night, always aware of each breath she took. During the day, he flicked the splattering oil away from her hand as she cooked, and placed bookmarkers in her books right before she closed them; she had a bad habit of losing her place that way.

Time watched in amusement, upsetting Death with his secret laugh. Death did not understand why her fate tickled his fancy so.

Finally, Time decided to ask Death a question he had kept to himself for quite a while.

"Death?" Came Time's hollow voice.

"What do you want now?" Came a deep and crisp voice in return.

"When was the last time you checked the wall of fates?" an amused Time asked.

Death closed his eyes and thought back, trying to remember. It was some time during a great spread of disease, but there have been so many. Life had been losing so often and he had grown arrogant, throwing his wins in her face. She had finally had too much and broke down in front of him. He could still hear her cries as she asked him to consume her, he could even still feel her trembling hands as she clung to his sleeve. He opened his eyes when the memories became too much.

"Not since Destiny took on Life's role, why?"

At first Time did not answer, but when it became clear that Death had no intention to leave the girl to check, he let out a sign and continued on. "Her name is back on the wall."

When Death did nothing but stiffen, Time continued. "You should talk to her, before she gets the wrong idea about you."

Taking his eyes off of the girl sitting in a bean bag, reading a book he had read over her shoulder a million times, he glared at Time. "If the fates were smart, they would have chosen a man. Women are like flowers, they wilt if they spend too much time with me."

A feminine voice piped in from the girl's direction "I've done substantially well then, wouldn't you say?"


End file.
